Remember that time, about 15 years ago, when we were driving down some Texan backroad? It started with you wriggling against the seat but soon turned into a desperate scratching. "What the hell is wrong with you?" I shouted, "Fucking itching won't go away!" It took some moments, but then I remembered. Two days before, when we were in the shower, I shaved your ass-cheeks while you washed your face. 15 years later, and I'm still laughing.
No, really.
Poems that Suck 